Fra. Sall ick not believe you long?
[Exit Franceschina.
Free. O yes, come, via![27]—away, boy—on!
[Exit, his Page lighting him.
Re-enter Freevill, and seems to overhear Malheureux.
Mal. Is she unchaste—can such a one be damn’d?
O love and beauty! ye two eldest seeds
Of the vast chaos, what strong right you have
Even in things divine—our very souls!
Free. [aside.] Wha, ha, ho! come, bird, come. Stand, peace!
Mal. Are strumpets then such things so delicate?
Can custom spoil what nature made so good? 240
Or is their custom bad? Beauty’s for use—
I never saw a sweet face vicious!
It might be proud, inconstant, wanton, nice,
But never tainted with unnatural vice.
Their worst is, their best art is love to win—
O that to love should be or shame, or sin!
Free. [aside.] By the Lord! he’s caught! Laughter eternal!
Mal. Soul, I must love her! Destiny is weak
To my affection.—A common love!—
Blush not, faint breast! 250
That which is ever loved of most is best.
Let colder eld the strong’st objections move,
No love’s without some lust, no life without some love.